


Every Second into More

by Morcalivan



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flip Fuck, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Jaskier/others mentioned, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romantic Fluff, School Reunion, So many others - Freeform, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morcalivan/pseuds/Morcalivan
Summary: As much as he hated to admit it, Jaskier was one of those who had peaked in high school. Back then he had been universally adored and had people left and right begging for his attention. The years since then? No so much any of that. When he received the invitation to his high school reunion, it could not have come at a worst time; not only could he barely book enough jobs to stay alive, but he was woefully single. What he did have was the old standby: lying through his teeth. All he needed was one hot distraction in the form of the one person he could never get to look at him twice: Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 562
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	Every Second into More

**Author's Note:**

> Written (very very late after the fact) to a Tumblr prompt by [feedingmyinsomnia](https://feedingmyinsomnia.tumblr.com/). I just couldn't not write it.
> 
> Title from Tomorrow, by Mika. I had this vague idea its something like what Jaskier sings during the bit with the singing.

The invitation to his high school reunion came three days after Jaskier got dumped. Of course it did.

Not only was he woefully single, but he was also currently unemployed while he waited for a call-back.

Jaskier flung the tastefully designed card across the room and fell back onto the bed. He covered his face with one arm and ran through several breathing exercises to calm himself down. When those didn’t work, he pulled a pillow into his chest and curled up around it, giving in to the urge to scream into the void.

A while later, when he’d successfully exhausted himself, Jaskier hung over the side of the bed to grab the invite again.

Reunion. Right. He didn’t have to attend, he supposed.

He laughed. What madness, of course, he would attend. He had fans who might wonder where he was, not to mention the friends he hadn’t seen in years. Being a little down on his luck was no reason not to put on a show. If he was as good an actor as he considered himself, and he was, then selling a lie would be easy enough. He'd breeze in, charm them out of their pants and maybe go down on someone in the bathroom stall. Just like old times.

Going alone was always an option. A shitty option.

Because the thing was, for all that it sucked as all schools sucked; high school had been a peak time for Jaskier. He'd managed to build quite the reputation, one that he hadn't entirely lived up to in the ten years that followed.

He’d been so confident his career would simply take off, like magic. Reality was a cold shock when it came to auditions and seeing the hundreds of other hopefuls just like him. Some more talented, most of them not.

Music-wise he hadn’t yet been able to make a mark, but the acting thing was moderately successful. Well, more like minorly successful, but he’d booked a commercial or two, as well as a run on the stage for a couple of months the previous year. If that call-back came, it would be the first leading role, though. And he would finally be on the map.

He drummed his fingers against his knee. Now where to get a date at short notice? Preferably someone who wouldn't make a scene if Jaskier ended up leaving with someone else.

Not any of his numerous exes, that was certain. Too bad Pavetta had recently gotten married; taking a few selfies with her would have been so good for his Insta.

With a sigh, he reached for the laptop on the edge of the bed, where he'd left it last. It had miraculously not been kicked to the floor.

He spent the next hour with an old yearbook on one knee and the laptop on the other. An open bottle of cider dripped condensation onto his nightstand while he looked up everyone he ever knew on Facebook.

“How is everyone married?” he asks, closing one more profile. All the pictures of happy little families were giving him a headache from hell. How could others his age be taking care of offspring? Jaskier could barely take care of himself.

He finished off the cider and stared intently at the few pictures in the yearbook that he hadn’t crossed out. Of those, there were three he was not nearly desperate enough to try yet.

One of the two remaining was the scary Goth girl he had always given a wide berth to. Jen? Yen? She had barely registered as an entity their entire school lives, up until she had returned for their last year hotter than anyone has the right to be. Dark magic, Jaskier reckoned. He’d tried to ask her once, but along with her new looks, she’d also come back with a mean streak.

The last possibility…

Jaskier bit his lip and dragged a finger over the picture of a stern pale-haired boy. Well, boy was not giving him enough credit. Jaskier couldn’t remember a time Geralt hadn’t looked like a man who liked chopping wood and killing things with his bare hands.

They had been nice big hands too. Pity Jaskier had never had the opportunity to give them the study they deserved. Geralt had been a textbook loner, preferring to glare and grunt instead of engaging in conversation. His only element of participation had been joining the wrestling and fencing teams.

Not that Jaskier hadn’t done surprisingly well amongst the athletes, considering he had been a little theatre nerd who should have been the uncoolest of the uncool.

A slow smile spread across his face. Oh yes, he'd made quite a name for himself in high school. His mouth alone brought many people to their knees, not to mention the rest of him.

Jaskier stood up and moved in front of the mirror, giving himself a critical once over. Not quite the scrawny kid he had been, but he hadn’t filled out that much either. Time had been kind to him. There was no reason someone shouldn’t wet their pants at the opportunity of dating him. He was a catch, thank you very much.

He returned to the picture. Geralt had been able to buy them all beer when he’d been barely older than sixteen. Something he had done grudgingly, but without needing too much convincing. Fostered on the wrong side of town, he'd rarely waved off a chance to make money.

Jaskier laughed, his head suddenly light. Of course. It would be so simple. All he needed to do was find Geralt and convince him to play a little charade.

He would show up on the arm of the one guy no one had been able to bag back in high school.

Jaskier was a genius.

:: :: ::

Tracking Geralt down proved a little harder than expected. The man didn’t seem to like staying in one place for long, rather picking up jobs as the mood struck. It took all of a week to finally get his location from a friend of a friend.

Jaskier had tracked all the way to Blaviken, the next town over. Then he had to endure four hours of camping out in front of the Butchery, waiting for Geralt’s shift to start.

He was quite certain that the smell of raw meat had permeated his clothes and that he would never get the stench off. Sure, he liked a steak every now and then, but he couldn’t imagine wanting to work in the preparation of it.

Just as Jaskier was about to give up a car pulled carefully into a newly opened parking spot. He didn’t know a whole lot about cars, but this one was old, likely dating back to the 60s. A kind of muscle car that was in perfect condition, the dark paint gleaming without so much as a scratch or a bump.

Jaskier put down the soda cup he’d been slurping and craned his neck to see who got out of the car. There was something rather sexy about a person who took good care of their belongings.

The door opened and a head with hair as white as bone appeared. It practically glowed like a beacon, much longer than Jaskier remembered it being.

Whatever second thoughts he might have had about this plan melted away as Geralt folded the rest of his body out of the car. Had Jaskier still been holding the cup, it would no doubt have fallen from his bloodless fingers. Because _hot damn_.

Lips parted, Jaskier watched, fixated on the hand closing the car door. He could already feel that hand, strong, rough, gliding up his back to fist into his hair. It would pull just the right side of fucking amazing, and shove his face deeper into the bed while Geralt’s cock did the same to his ass.

Cause the thing is, Jaskier quite likes bottoming, but he can’t even remember the last time someone wanted to take advantage of that. Between the married women he’d been picking up lately, and the boys even twinkier than him, it had been a while since he'd received a good pounding.

He let his gaze trail up Geralt’s legs. Muscular thighs that could crush the breath from him. Powerful enough to support both their weight as Geralt shoved him up against a wall and ripped open his--

“Do you have a problem?”

The unexpected words yanked Jaskier back to reality. The reality in which an unimpressed Geralt glared down at him, eyes golden in the afternoon light.

“Uh…” Jaskier swallowed. He hadn’t thought anyone could get both cotton-mouthed and drooly at the same time.

Geralt’s brows knitted together. Oh boy, Jaskier was just fucking this right up the middle.

Pulling himself together and standing to his respectable enough height, Jaskier tried to slide into the charming smile that had gotten him into so many beds. “Geralt. Hi. I don’t know if you remember me, I--”

“I know who you are, Jask.” Geralt’s frown got even deeper, and his gaze slid sideways, breaking eye contact. “Jaskier.”

Warmth started in Jaskier’s toes and spread all the way to his belly. He couldn’t contain his grin even if he wanted to. “Wow, it’s been so long.”

Geralt grunted. Not moving closer, but not moving away either. And if there wasn’t answering happiness on his face, well, it was still early days.

“We should catch up,” Jaskier prattled on. “Talk about the old days. High school. The men we’ve become.”

“I have to get to work.” Geralt was still not looking at Jaskier.

“Certainly. The old grindstone. Say, did you receive an invitation to the reunion? Of course you did. Can you believe it’s been ten years? I’m sure you must be excited. See the old stomping grounds. See who made it big and who got old.”

When there was no reply except for Geralt’s long-suffering sigh, Jaskier continued on. “Are you taking a date?”

That got Geralt’s attention, his eyes quickly cut to Jaskier before slithering away again. “Not going.”

“You have to go. It’s our reunion.”

“There will be another.”

“Yes, but we could all be dead by then.”

Geralt let out a bitter little laugh. “We should be so lucky.”

Jaskier hid his surprise. Geralt was far darker than he’d expected, and while it wasn’t something he’d had to deal with very often, he was not about to let go of the plan so easily. “Oh. Well, I think you should go. You could go with me, if you don’t want to turn up alone.”

“I don’t need a date.”

He tried the flirty smile again. “I do.”

“I’m not going.”

“I have money, I can compensate you for your time,” Jaskier hastened to add, the words leaving his mouth before his brain could reform them into something more diplomatic.

He’d never seen colour on Geralt’s face, but it went even paler now. “I don’t need your money. I don’t need anything you can offer me. And I most certainly do not need you.”

Geralt shoved past him, only narrowly avoiding clipping Jaskier with a shoulder. Mouth open, he stared at the broad back of Geralt as he unceremoniously went on with his business.

Had he always been that rude?

:: :: ::

Two days later, Jaskier was right back in front of that store. Geralt had just come off his shift, his stance tired, but his glare showing a readiness to fight.

As if Jaskier would even try. Fun though it might be to get manhandled and pinned, a punch in the gut was the last thing on his to-do list for the evening.

He lifted both hands to indicate peace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you before. Can we start over?”

“Will you shut up about the reunion?”

Jaskier grimaced. Geralt grunted his displeasure.

“Being seen with me would do wonders for your social life, you know? I am practically a celebrity. You would be famous by association.”

For as still of a face as he had, Geralt’s expression spoke volumes. The slight tightening of his lips, the set of his jaw, the carefully hooded eyes. Jaskier thought he could write sonnets about every minute shift and never get tired of looking at it.

“Just hear me out, okay? No compensation, just a teeny weeny kindness for a friend. And in return, you can feast to your heart’s content. Food, women, and wine, Geralt.”

Geralt had been looking towards his car, getting ready to take his leave. The words made him turn his head slowly. As signs of interest went, it was woefully little, but Jaskier would take it. He had been wondering if he’d have to drop to his knees and suck Geralt off right there in the parking lot to convince him. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed doing so.

“I’m not your friend,” Geralt said in his rumbling voice.

Which was true enough. And it shouldn’t cause such a stabbing pain in Jaskier’s gut. There had been plenty of people who hadn’t liked him. His father, who thought musical theatre was no kind of career. The husbands of the women he bedded. Every science teacher he ever had.

“You could be. I have been known to be very, very nice to my friends.” He let his tongue wet his bottom lip.

“Why?” Geralt asks, grumpy but curious. “Why me? Why now? Why this reunion?”

“Would you believe I find you unbelievably sexy and would just love to take you out?”

Geralt’s frown said he did not, which was a shame as it was absolutely true.

It took Jaskier a moment to come up with an answer. He couldn’t very well tell Geralt he wanted him as arm candy to impress friends he hadn’t spoken to in years. “I left some bad blood behind when I left school. Not saying they are all keeping a grudge, but one never knows. Nobody would dare lay a hand on me with you by my side.”

A muscle jumped in Geralt’s cheek. His eyes narrowed in an intent stare like he was trying to burrow into Jaskier’s head. At long last, he sighed. “What would I need to do?”

“Be my date?” Jaskier asked hopefully. “Pretend to be my devoted boyfriend, if you feel up to it. Make everyone jealous.”

“How would making them jealous help keep you safe?”

Jaskier shrugged with one shoulder, trying his best to be cute. “That’s just a nice bonus.”

Geralt pulled a face like he was smelling raw sewage. “I won’t fight on your behalf.”

“Of course not. Just make that scary face. Yeah, that one right there.”

Geralt let out his breath through his nose, and muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“I said, fine.”

Elation made Jaskier want to dance a jig, but he knew better than to give in to such a display. He was going to have to play it very cool if he didn’t want to scare Geralt off before the event.

They exchanged numbers after that, and Jaskier was over the moon. Every knobhead he had ever gone to school with was going to piss themselves with envy when they saw them together.

:: :: ::

He showed up two hours early. He’d just _known_.

“Mother of…” Jaskier winced, biting his lip. There was no diplomatic way to say it, and have Geralt not contradict him. “You are not wearing that.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Geralt asked, looking down at his outfit.

Jaskier lifted his wrist to his brow and shuddered dramatically. “While I am sure your black leather bomber would be fine for another occasion, we will not be piloting airplanes tonight.”

Luckily, he had come prepared for this. He lifted the paper bag of goodies, letting it swing from his finger. Geralt didn’t take the bait, which left him no other choice than shoving the bad against Geralt’s chest.

“These will complement your pale skin and hair,” he said, giving Geralt another critical once over. While he certainly didn’t look bad, he could definitely improve on some elements. “Which, incidentally you will be washing and conditioning before we go. Show me your hands, we have enough time for a manicure, if needed.”

Geralt peered into the bag, let out a confused sounding grunt, and took a half step back. His hand tightened around the bag, making it crinkle as his knuckles started going white.

“Well,” Jaskier prompted. “Go on.”

Jaw clenched, Geralt pulled a high collared, embroidered blazer from the bag. “Fuck. No.”

“What? It’s beautiful.”

Geralt’s face twisted, trying to form five different expressions at once, none of them happy.

Jaskier didn’t know what his problem was. Perhaps he’d never worn something so finely made? “Look at the gold trim. It matches your eyes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“If you don’t wear yours, then we won't match.” Jaskier stroked down his chest, touching the more elaborate gold waistcoat. He’d worn it over a puffy midnight blue shirt that matched Geralt’s blazer. He looked damn fine, if he had to say so himself, and was quite miffed that no compliments had been paid yet.

Geralt’s gaze tracked Jaskier’s hand as it moved. “You look like you’re going to a steampunk convention.”

“How dare you? I’ll have you know this is handmade. It’s a one of a kind work of art made to best display my lean physique to its full glory.” He put his hands on his hips, striking a pose for Geralt’s consideration and enjoyment.

Which clearly went right over Geralt’s head, as he just continued to stand there, glowering. His muscles were tense and he made aggressive eye contact like he thought he could stare Jaskier down.

Jaskier’s smile softened. He knew so very little about Geralt, but already he couldn’t help the surge of affection he felt in the face of all that grump. There were things he was scared of, sure, but golden-eyed men were not on the list.

“Go shower. Do your hair. Wear the blazer.”

Geralt's mouth dropped open and he blinked like he couldn’t imagine anyone speaking to him like that.

“Please?” Jaskier added, voice deceptively soft. He'd learned early on that some people were more inclined to follow his orders if they thought they were doing him a favour.

Geralt grunted, highly unimpressed, but when he left for what Jaskier presumed was the bathroom, he took the blazer and its matching trousers with him. Leaving Jaskier alone with the giant dog that glared at him every bit as much as its master had.

:: :: ::

They ended up being twenty minutes late, as Jaskier had to send Geralt back for another round of hair care and insisted on doing the styling himself. It was… nice.

He had never been accused of being nurturing, but something about Geralt made Jaskier want to take care of him. Make sure he moisturized and conditioned, and all that. Maybe rub the aches and tension out of those lovely muscles when Geralt came home after a long day, then use his hands and mouth to work him right back up.

If Jaskier spent a bit too long running his fingers through the thick white hair, who could really blame him?

“Not too late to leave,” Geralt growled while they were standing at the entrance, waiting for a blonde lady to get their name tags.

Jaskier brushed a non-existent piece of lint off Geralt’s arm and straightened the blazer’s shoulder seams. “And have everyone miss out on gazing upon our beauty? Not a chance.”

Geralt looked every bit as resplendent as Jaskier had thought he would. And Jaskier didn’t cut too bad of a figure himself, in his own opinion. Together, they were making heads turn.

One of whom was the violet-eyed Goth queen herself, looking like she’d just stepped out of some misunderstood teen boy’s fantasy, with her strappy black dress that displayed far too much skin for the cool, cloudy evening. She glided towards them with a less than welcoming sneer on her face. He couldn’t see her heels beneath the floor-length dress, but by the tiny tap-taps, sounded needle-thin.

“Are you sniffing around my leftovers again?” she hissed.

“What?” Jaskier asked, dumbfounded. He’d had a few blackout drunk nights in his youth, but he was quite sure he could never be drunk enough to butter that biscuit. How could he possibly be her leftovers?

“Yennefer…” Geralt said, soft and with affection.

Jaskier’s head snapped in that direction and he breathed another, “what?”

Geralt cleared his throat and pointedly didn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes. Yennefer smirked.

“Wait, hold up.” Jaskier shook his head to clear it. They were pulling his leg, surely. “You dated? You never dated. The two of you? No way. When would such an atrocity have happened? This is no time for jokes, Geralt.”

Yennefer slinked closer and placed a hand possessively on Geralt’s arm. And he _let her_ , the bastard. Not only that, he gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“We were together for three years at Uni,” she said.

For a moment Geralt kept looking at her, like he was about to fall under the witch’s spell again, but then he righted himself and seemed to remember that he was there as someone’s pretend date. He pulled away from Yennefer and took Jaskier’s hand.

Bright, hot tingles shot up Jaskier’s arm. Comfortably dry palm, nice strong grip. Just how Jaskier liked it. Wrapping his free hand around Geralt’s forearm, he leaned in close.

“Oh, isn’t that lovely. We are a new development.” He beamed at Geralt, and acting besotted came so very easily. “Still in the honeymoon phase, you might say.”

He’d be damned if a small smile didn’t tug at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier nuzzled his shoulder and stared Yennefer down. “Wait, did you say again? When did we ever go after the same person?”

“You fucked Istredd,” she sneered.

Jaskier chuckled. “There was no fucking. I jerked him off a couple of times, is all.”

When both of them just looked at him, the need to over-explain settled over him, unwelcome but familiar. “He tutored me for a couple of months. I did really well on my tests. Figured he deserved a reward. He never mentioned he was dating anyone.”

“We were broken up,” Yennefer muttered.

Jaskier frowned at her. What claim did she have if they weren’t even together at the time? “I’ve always found it’s better to cut ties and move on, than to cling to someone who doesn’t want you.”

Yennefer spluttered at that. “I’ll have you know _I_ dumped _him_.”

He shrugged. “So let it go.”

She looked like she wanted to strangle him, but then she took a deep breath and got herself under control. “I am seeing someone new as well, she’s here tonight. If I see you so much as look at her, I will break your fingers.”

Easy enough; while the two of them may have shared a similar taste in men, surely they wouldn’t also like the same thing in women. “I hadn’t known about Istredd. Obviously, I would never intentionally get mixed up in such a thing.” Well, he had the intention to never do so again. Can’t really help the past now.

Yennefer clucked her tongue in disgust and then looked over her shoulder. “Geralt do you remember--”

She never got to finish the introduction, as the lady in question all but threw herself at them.

“Jaskier!” Slender arms wound their way around Jaskier’s neck. Triss held on long and tight, as good friends should, before she pulled back so she could give Geralt a hug as well.

“It’s so great to see you! Did you come together?” She circled her index fingers around each other and then tapped the tips together. “Wait, are you, as in really, together? Yen, you didn’t tell me, we could have been double dating!”

What now?

Jaskier pulled on his suddenly too-tight collar. The universe was fucking with him, that was the only explanation. He’d been wrong, it seemed they _had_ similar taste in lovers after all.

“Tell me you didn’t.” Yennefer glared at him in a way that made him scoot closer to Geralt and feigned great interest in the ceiling. He could feel Geralt staring at the side of his face, not quite with the death threat as Yennefer, but with the bad kind of heat.

Triss laughed, carefree, and oblivious. Jaskier was willing to bet she’d gotten well acquainted with the bar already. Triss had always been the most responsible person he knew, but oh boy, when she let loose, she sure knew how to party.

She linked her arm with Yennefer’s and tugged at the edge of Jaskier’s waistcoat. “I heard you are up for the lead in the new Cintra play. Congratulations!”

“It’s not a done deal yet,” Jaskier said, knowing all too well not to pop the champagne corks until he stepped out on the stage on opening night. And even then, actors got replaced all the time.

Triss waved it off. “Only a matter of time. I always knew you were going to do great things. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Jaskier nodded, because she had indeed. And while he hadn’t yet lived up to her high expectations, he very much wanted to. “You should have said yes when I asked you to be my manager. How much higher my career trajectory would have been with you at my side.”

“Don’t sell yourself short; you’ve sure come a long way from those gigs in the coffee shop.” She turned to include Yennefer and Geralt in the conversation. “I don’t know if you know, but Jask and a couple of mates had this band, and they were quite awful.”

“Hey!” he protested.

She ignored him, of course. “I spent so many Friday nights as one of only five people who came to see them. I had to bribe my friends to come with me.”

“You never mentioned him,” Yennefer bit out. “Did you have class together?”

“We all had classes together,” Triss said and laughed, shaking her hair back from her shoulders. “It was a small school, but that’s not how we know each other. I did lighting and design for the school musical, and Jask was, of course, the lead. He was always nice to me and helped put everything away after rehearsals. Wasn’t long before we were making out in the wardrobe closet.”

Geralt grunted. Admittedly Jaskier hadn’t spent much time with him yet, but he was slowly starting to be able to interpret the noises. That one had a vaguely sarcastic sound to it.

Yennefer tilted her head quizzically, trying to remember something. “The boy from the play, that was your last boyfriend.”

There was nothing but love and acceptance in Triss’ eyes when she looked at him, and Jaskier felt himself getting a little misty. Oh, how he had missed her. She winked. “Yes, the last, but the best.”

“You’re only interested in women now?” Geralt asked, piping up for the first time.

“Well, I am only interested in Yen now, but yes, I shifted more to the sapphic side. Jaskier gave me that.”

“That sounds like I turned her gay,” Jaskier rushed to say. “Which is not what happened.”

It wasn’t exactly a story he wanted to be told in front of Geralt, but neither did he want the big man to think he was so bad in bed that girls ran the other way.

Yennefer grimaced. “This is something we should discuss later.”

Triss scrunched her face up and thought it over. “We’re all friends here, are we not? Practically a love square.”

Geralt nodded. More just an encouraging tilt of the chin, really.

It was enough to make Triss lean in conspiratorially. “It was after one of the gigs, a particularly bad one where some stoned lout had thrown a bottle at the band and then proceeded to flash everyone. The girls and I decided to take Jask out for a drink to drown his sorrows. Needless to say, we all got stupid drunk and ended up all falling into bed together. Where we stayed for the rest of the weekend.”

Jaskier had always tried his best to not hold onto the past too hard. In his experience, people came, and then they went, much like the tides of an ocean. Not much was meant to last forever, and certainly not high school crushes. The last thing he expected was the small pang of regret at the memory. Or rather, at what it had cost him.

“So there I was,” Triss continued. “With Jask pressed up against my back, Fringilla blanketing me from the front, and Tissaia and Sabrina were at the edge of the bed doing… I don’t even know. While kissing Fringilla it just struck me, I liked girls.”

Giggling, she leaned into Yennefer. “I _really_ like girls.”

He brushed off the bittersweet feeling and forced a smile. “So, you two, how long has this been going on?”

“Two years now,” Triss said.

“Any plans to make it official?”

Both of them laughed and when they looked at each other, the tenderness was too much, too raw. Jaskier glanced away and saw that Geralt had no such qualms about staring at them. He was making one of those micro expressions that Jaskier hadn’t seen enough to decipher yet. Was it jealousy? Annoyance? Longing?

“Maybe one day,” the ladies said in unison.

He pulls his attention away from Geralt. His next smile is far more genuine. “Hope I am invited.”

“Of course. You both are. Jaskier, I am so happy you found someone who will keep you from hitting on all the bridesmaids.”

“Hey!” he protested. True to form, Geralt only grunted noncommittally.

If it bothered Triss, she didn’t show it. “Do you remember that strap-on Tissaia brought? You got out that bed so fast it was like you had motion blur.”

Jaskier choked on his own spit and shot Geralt an apologetic look. He’d really hoped she would omit that part of the story. It was the first, and thus far only time Jaskier had noped out of a sexual encounter. “It still haunts my nightmares.”

“Right? And she was all casual about it, like she just carried it in her purse always. Oh! I saw her around here somewhere, I have to know if she still has it. Save a dance for me later?”

Triss was gone before he could respond, pulling Yennefer along with her. It was not unlike how they had broken up; she had dropped him off after the events of that weekend, then went to brunch with Fringilla, and just like that Jaskier was single again. It had hurt at the time, but he’d never truly begrudged her the happiness she’d found.

“Do you also know Triss from school?” he asked, mostly to get the conversation off himself. Not that he didn’t love talking about himself, but he had hoped to get to know Geralt better.

“We worked together briefly. She was competent and tolerable.”

High praise, coming from Geralt. He briefly wondered what Geralt was going to say about him after the night was over. Likely neither of those words.

“Thirsty?” Jaskier asked hopefully.

“Fuck, yes.”

“So,” Geralt said, while they were waiting for their order. “You slept with half the cheerleading squad?”

Of course, that’s the part that had stuck. Jaskier groaned. “What can I say? I was adventurous in high school.”

“Not that adventurous, though.”

What the hell? Was Geralt making a joke? Nothing in his expression gave anything away. Though those golden eyes seemed more twinkly than they had before.

“It was a green twelve-inch monstrosity as wide as my forearm.”

Geralt had the grace to wince.

“Yeah.”

They accepted their drinks without any further incidents and were standing at the edge of the room, mostly sipping silently, when a long-haired blond spotted them.

“Jaskier!”

Next to him Geralt grunted and muttered, “Let me guess, another old flame?”

“I… we were in a band together.” Jaskier mumbled, although he is not sure why he felt the need to explain his past. It wasn’t something he’d ever been ashamed of. At least not until Geralt’s quiet judgy presence by his side.

Jaskier stepped forward to embrace Filavandrel, holding on a little tighter and longer than strictly necessary, because _fuck Geralt_. So what if he was right?

“Long time no see, old friend. I didn't think anything could make you come down off your mountain?”

Filavandrel chuckled, soft and enchanting in a way only he could manage. It reminded Jaskier why they had so often ended up on their knees for each other. Their backstage relationship had been largely fuelled by post-performance highs, but there had been fondness there too. Friends who fell easily in and out lust. Always there should one of them need some rebound sex.

“I came very reluctantly. Had I known my ears would be assaulted by this drivel, I would have stayed home.” Filavandrel circled a finger in the air, indicating the music. “They couldn’t even spring for a DJ? Whose lacklustre playlist is this?”

Jaskier’s chortle was cut short when a large, strong hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Surprised, he glanced at Geralt, who had crowded close and was staring at Filavandrel with a pinched brow.

“Uh, Fil, you remember Geralt, right?”

Filavandrel nodded. “Indeed. He stands out.”

Geralt, lacking a modicum of social grace, said nothing. Neither of them held out a hand to be shaken.

“Strange bedfellows?” Filavandrel cheeked.

“Something like that.” Jaskier would rather avoid having to explain this thing with Geralt, if at all possible. Filavandrel was the one person who would tell him what a moronic idea it was.

The hand on his neck moved. He half expected it to grip tighter, but all Geralt did was trail fingers up to his jaw and then back down again. Playing the game, Jaskier reminded himself. That was all it was. He just hadn’t expected Geralt to actually act out their fake relationship.

Filavandrel’s lips pursed. He met Geralt’s stare head-on. They stayed like that for a moment, sharing some strange communication that Jaskier wasn’t privy to. Then he smirked. “How about we do a song together? For old time’s sake? This venue doesn’t have particularly good acoustics, but I am sure we can make do. You don’t mind if I steal him for a few minutes, do you Geralt?”

Geralt didn’t answer.

Jaskier laughed uncomfortably. He was still not quite sure what was going on. Had it been anyone else, he would have assumed a pissing contest, but Filavandrel wasn’t that kind of guy, and it wasn’t like Geralt was actually interested. “I couldn’t possibly. I have no instrument.”

“I have an extra lute. Been meaning to send it to you as a gift, anyway.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt again. The big man made no comment. Which was fine, not like Jaskier needed his permission anyhow. Besides, he didn’t think Geralt had ever heard his dulcet tones, and was that not a cruel oversight?

“One song.”

“One song,” Filavandrel promised.

Four songs later and sparking with adrenaline, Jaskier reluctantly handed the lute back to Filavandrel with the promise that he would come pick it up later.

He made his way back to Geralt, only stumbling twice from claps on the back given by his adoring fans.

“Why am I here?” Geralt growled when he got close.

Jaskier looked at him, still smiling and breathless. “You are my date.”

“Do you ignore all your dates so you can flirt with other people?”

“Flirt?”

Geralt’s gaze cut to Filavandrel.

Blinking, Jaskier sobered up enough to take in the sour expression. “Geralt, are you jealous?”

Geralt’s jaw tightened even further. “No,” he grunted.

Normally this was the part where Jaskier played up how in demand he was so a potential new lover would decide to sample the goods them self. He just knew it would be the wrong tactic here. Geralt didn’t seem like the kind of person one played games with.

Besides which, spending so much time with the old band while he had someone waiting for him was rather rude.

“You are right. I apologise for neglecting you.”

It kept Geralt from walking away, but he didn’t look any happier about the events.

There had to be some way to cheer the man up. “Wanna dance?”

“No.”

Before Jaskier could get into flexing his considerable powers of persuasion, the slinky black-clad figure of Yennefer disgraced their presence again. This time to show off a new prize.

A bitter acid taste formed in the back of Jaskier’s throat as he glared at the man on her arm. Valdo Fucking Marx. The hack who had just signed a recording deal. Who had stolen three juicy theatre rolls right out from under Jaskier in the last two years.

Yennefer gave him a sharp smile. Jaskier had to admit a small, minuscule really, scrap of admiration. Well played, harpy.

He was uncharacteristically silent as the introductions were made and Valdo went on and on about the songs he had written for his upcoming album. And the book of poetry he planned to publish thereafter.

Jaskier’s face burned and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. They had been in competition since the first day they showed up to the same audition, which Valdo had booked. Every time they ran into each other after that, Valdo never failed to rub his success in Jaskier’s face. He was everything Jaskier was, just better.

Geralt’s hand settled on Jaskier’s person again, this time cupping his shoulder and applying soft, but insistent pressure to tilt Jaskier into his broad chest. Pressure he most assuredly did not fight, once he clocked on to what was happening.

Jaskier went so far as to rest his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder. He could see a muscle throb in Yennefer’s neck.

After that, Jaskier wouldn’t have cared if Valdo declared himself newly knighted. He wasn’t even really listening to the blowhard anymore; the closer he cuddled into Geralt, the darker Yennefer’s expression went. Granted, Geralt was also tensing up and Jaskier probably needed to stop trying to eradicate his personal space. There was only so much one’s fake boyfriend could be expected to tolerate.

He straightened, getting ready to apologise, but Geralt’s hand slid hot and steady against his back and Jaskier forgot what he might have wanted to say. Golden eyes tracked to him, Geralt’s lips holding just the slightest quirk of a smile.

For a moment it felt real, but he remembered Geralt was doing it to get on Yennefer’s nerves. Considering they had been together once, it was not unthinkable that he might be getting some passive-aggressive joy out of it.

“We should dance.”

“What?” Jaskier and Yennefer said together.

Geralt let out a small huff of amusement. His touch fell away, and it’s all Jaskier could do not to whine at its absence. The disappointment was quickly squashed when Geralt took his hand instead. It is the slowest touch Jaskier had ever experienced. The pads of Geralt’s fingers were rough against his pulse point. The calluses were different than his own, but no less thrilling. Then the fingers glided down his palm before nudging their way between his.

Jaskier swallowed audibly and spread his fingers to accommodate. Geralt gripped him, strong and sure. Then gave an almost imperceptible tug.

“Didn’t you say this is your song?”

And idiot that he was, Jaskier wanted to argue, because that was very much not his song. The expression on Geralt’s face stopped him. It was all heat and want, and even if it was just pretend, Jaskier let Geralt lead him to the makeshift dance floor like he would let the man lead him to the ends of the earth, as long as he kept looking at Jaskier like that.

It was a slow song, forcing them to stand close. Their legs rubbed together and Jaskier inched his free hand up to rest on Geralt’s shoulder. He held his breath the entire time, worried it’s all a joke or a misunderstanding. But no, there was a touch on his waist and suddenly they were shuffling to the beat.

A minute into the dance it became clear that neither of them was particularly good at dancing. While Jaskier can follow stage choreography just fine, his own idea of rocking to music was jumping up and down in one spot with his fist in the air.

Geralt made another amused sound, and _fuck_ , Jaskier wanted to feel it whispered into his skin. Instead what he felt was both of Geralt’s hands settling on his hips. Biting back what would probably have been a breathless giggle, Jaskier responded with both arms around Geralt’s neck. And wasn’t that like every high school dance he’d ever been to.

It was ridiculous and embarrassing, and he wanted to stay there forever. Of course, nothing ever lasted. He knew that well. Possibly better than most.

The next song was a lot faster, and Jaskier pulled back, unsure what he was allowed to do next. Geralt glanced toward the seating area, a slight bit of panic on his face.

Jaskier was about to take pity on him and suggest they get another drink, but someone slotted in behind him. His first instinct was to tell Fil to fuck off, but the body was decidedly too small to belong to his old band mate.

Breasts pressed against his back and a sharp chin dug into his shoulder.

“Hey, hot stuff!” Pavetta yelled right into his ear. “You better have saved me a dance.”

Geralt scowled at the little blonde, but she just laughed and grabbed hold of Jaskier’s hips to turn him to face her. He briefly considered fighting her on it, but her mother is set to direct the play he’s up for, and he didn’t want to cause a ruckus while they were still casting. Besides, he’d known Pavetta for years and aside from being spoiled and demanding, she was relatively harmless.

“Pavetta, darling, you look exquisite, as always.”

She beamed at him and nodded towards Geralt. “Have you started making the rounds again, Jas?”

Geralt’s annoyed grunt tickled Jaskier’s ear.

“Oh, this one is a keeper,” he hastened to say, lest Geralt get ideas that he’s not wanted. “Where is your dear husband? What’s his name again? Dunjamin?”

Pavetta threw her head back and laughed. “Duny is out of town on business. Now, less talking and more dancing. I believe you owe me one for introducing you to my mother.”

Jaskier hadn’t been planning on paying that debt with his body. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she reached around him, searching for something. There was another grunt behind him, then Pavetta pulled back, clutching Geralt’s wrists. She carefully placed the large hands where she wanted them on Jaskier’s hips.

“There, you can share him with me for a little while. I’ll show you what he likes.”

Jaskier expected Geralt to yank away and disappear into the crowd, but after a moment of hesitation, he stepped right into Jaskier’s space. Jaskier had known Geralt was built, but he swore he could feel each of those muscles digging into him even through a few layers of clothing.

Pavetta crowded him from the front, using her hands and her body to set their rhythm. He and Geralt followed her lead.

If this was something Geralt was into, Jaskier could mostly definitely roll with it. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a situation like this; he knew how it worked. He brought one arm up, reaching back to get a handful of Geralt’s hair and keep him close.

One song became two, then three. Caught between a hard pillar and a soft cushion, Jaskier let his head fall back against Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He barely had to do anything but hold on and let them grind on him.

At one point he felt lips against the side of his neck, but he had no idea whose. Pavetta had managed to get one of his legs between hers and Geralt was rubbing a very interesting bulge against his backside.

He didn’t know how long they were there. He lost track of the music, of the crowd, of the reason they were there. It was just the rush of alcohol and arousal making his head spin and his blood sing. They wanted him. Both of them. He could feel it in their rasping breaths and stuttering hips.

Jaskier groaned. If one of his dancing partners could just put a hand down his pants, he would die a happy man.

Then it was over. A chill claimed the front of his body as Pavetta slipped away. He heard her whisper something before she went. _All yours or you’re welcome_ , perhaps.

Geralt stiffened, in a decidedly not sexy way.

“Wait,” Jaskier mouthed, but he knew it was no use.

The hands-on his hips lingered longer than the rest, but soon even those were gone. Dazed and unsteady, Jaskier stumbled before he could catch himself. He spun around to see the pale hair and ungodly wide shoulders of Geralt move through the crowd towards the exit.

“What the fuck?” Jaskier asked no one in particular. Around him, everyone else danced on.

:: :: ::

“What are you doing?” Yennefer asked when she found Jaskier at the bar.

He was already halfway into the third drink to numb his nerves, and so not interested in anything she had to say. “Isn’t it obvious,” he asked, lifting his glass to salute her.

Her lip curled. “I mean with Geralt.”

Jaskier shrugged and swirled the golden liquid inside the glass. It looked vaguely like Geralt’s eyes.

She settled on the chair next to him. “Maybe it’s better this way, you two weren’t that involved. Would have been worse if he left after you invested time and energy into it.”

“You don’t know anything about us,” Jaskier muttered.

“Please.” Yennefer ordered her drink before continuing the conversation. “If he’d been serious, he would have told me about you.”

Jaskier glanced up at that. “I thought you haven’t been together in years.”

“We were friends before we started dating, and we remained friends after.” There was something sad and sympathetic in the way she looked at him. “You are probably better off, as much as I love him, and despite how much he has to offer, Geralt can be difficult. Everyone thinks they can handle him. I thought so too, once.”

Jaskier downed the last of his drink. “Thank you so much for the unsolicited advice.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know how you wormed your way in again, I really thought he would be over this by now.”

“Over what now?” Jaskier asked, finally paying attention.

“Well, you.” She noticed the gobsmacked expression on his face and grimaced. “Not the actual you, but the idea of you.”

“Excuse me, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Clearly,” Jaskier bit out. “He did not.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip and turned her face like she’s looking for an exit. “Maybe you should talk to--”

“Please?”

Her stiff shoulders slumped. “You have to know the effect you had on people in high school. You flicked your finger, and it seemed everyone just rolled over for you. Not me, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed. But, was she implying what he thought she was implying? “You’re saying Geralt liked me? As in _like_ liked me?”

“What are you, twelve?” She rolled her eyes. The Bartender came with her drink, something in a tall glass that looked like tar. She took a slow sip, relishing the refreshment while Jaskier was desperate for an answer.

“I’m saying Geralt is immune to a lot of things,” she said after an eternity. “But certain charms from over-eager twits is not one of them. I told him, of course, it was a ridiculous notion. Him being who he is, and you being… you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geralt tends to fall hard.”

“I fall hard!”

“Bullshit. Name one long term relationship that left you actually heartbroken instead of just your pride stinging.” Yennefer took another long, slow sip. “Go on, I’ll wait.”

“Just because I’ve not been lucky in love--”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. You have no sticking power. Never did. All you were ever capable of is flitting from one flower field to the next, pollinating everything in your way.”

Jaskier grimaced, and then resented the feeling. He had been young, on a voyage of self-discovery, as poets were wont to do. And so what if there were a few more ports in the storm? His lovers left his bed happy. In fact, Jaskier could count on one hand the number of times he was the first to walk away, and not the one left behind.

“I was a kid. Are you still the same person you were in high school?”

She thought it over for a moment, then tilted her head, silently conceding the point. “No, but we’re talking about you now. I wouldn’t bring a date to a party and then dry hump some random girl on the dance floor.”

Ah, she’d seen that.

“Pavetta is not some random girl,” he protested.

“She’s married.”

“I know, I was at her wedding.”

Yennefer snorted like that made her point for her.

Jaskier could feel his ears turning red. He had to get out of there before he said something he could never take back. Not that he cared about hurting the witch’s feelings, but it would get back to Geralt. Despite the fact that Geralt had been just another person who walked away, Jaskier couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

Yennefer’s hand shot out to grasp his wrist. “Why did you let him leave?”

“I don’t own him, I can’t make decisions for him.”

“But did you give him a reason to stay?”

Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure if she was trying to give him advice or trying to scare him off.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“That’s the wrong question. You should be deciding what you want.”

“Stop gloating and just spit out what you want to say.”

Yennefer huffed. “Can men be denser? I am saying if you really want Geralt, you are going to have to chase him. He is slow on the uptake when it comes to romance.”

When Jaskier didn’t move, she used her hold on his wrist to give him a little shove. “Now. Chase now. He’s brooding right outside.”

He wanted to ask why she was suddenly trying to help, but if she was right, wasn’t it at least worth a shot to try? Even if it only lasted for a little while, he’d get to have something amazing.

What if he was too late, though? He’d been wasting at least ten minutes at the bar, what if Geralt had decided to leave?

“Go already.”

He didn’t stop to thank her.

:: :: ::

They nearly ran into each other at the front door, Geralt coming back in while Jaskier was going out. Both of them sucked in a deep breath. Neither spoke.

Jaskier was normally good at this part. He’d never had trouble charming the pants off someone before.

“You never commented on my singing,” he said at last, and as much as he wanted to stop speaking, the floodgate was open and there was no way to shut it. “Come on, three words or less.”

“It was…” Geralt spoke slowly, with great effort, like the words pained him to say. “Nice.”

Jaskier couldn’t help it, that was such a mild thing to be so difficult. He laughed.

But then Geralt stepped forward, right into Jaskier’s personal space. For a moment he thought he was going to get hit, but instead, Geralt’s hands curled around the side of his face.

No longer laughing, Jaskier stared at him with wide eyes. Were they skipping the talking it out bit of the evening? He was quite alright with that. He would be quite alright with a lot of things, if Geralt would just close the last bit of space between them.

Instead, Geralt seemed happy just to look at him. The scrutiny in those golden eyes made Jaskier feel vulnerable, but also hopeful. Unable to take more of the anticipation, Jaskier took the space himself and kissed Geralt.

Both of them groaned at that first touch of lips to lips. Jaskier wasted no time following it up with another, then another, coaxing Geralt’s mouth open to steal little tastes of the inside.

Geralt’s hands were still cradling Jaskier’s head, more gently than he would have thought they were capable of. One of them slid around to his neck, fingers tickling the hairline.

The breath punched sharply out of his lungs, but Jaskier couldn’t bear breaking the kiss to gasp for more.

It was Geralt who pulled away first. His eyes were dark, more pupil than iris. He stroked a thumb across Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier wanted to follow the digit, suck it in like he planned to do with another body part later.

“No,” Geralt whispered. It sounded frustrated and sad at the same time. He closed his eyes like not seeing Jaskier would be easier.

Wait, what?

It took Jaskier three tries to shape words. “What?”

“We can’t.”

“Why the hell not? Geralt…”

Geralt’s hands fell away. He took a step back, allowing cool air to flow between them. His breath came in visible pants, but his face was determined. “Not here. Not now. The deal was we attend the reunion. That means hobnobbing with more than five people. We should get back inside.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. He tried to shape words of protest, but all he could manage was a few choked sounds.

“Twenty minutes. You mingle. I’ll hang out by the bar. Then, if you still want to do this…”

Jaskier let out another confused sound and the mere idea that he would change his mind. Like he hadn’t been thinking about it every day for the last couple of weeks. At the time he needed to be eloquent the most, the words still didn’t come.

Geralt took the silence as agreement and gestured at the door. Jaskier found himself walking without the conscious thought to do so. They entered the venue, shoulder to shoulder, but both carefully keeping their hands to themselves.

Yennefer spotted them first. She whispered something to Triss, then clipped over as fast as her stilettos allowed. “Pardon us for a moment,” she said before grabbing Jaskier by the arm and towing him away.

“Hey!”

“Shut it. Why are you back so soon? Don’t you dare tell me Geralt is only worth a quickie in the shadows.”

“What?” Jaskier sputtered. “Of course not. Nothing happened. Not that I wasn’t completely willing, but Geralt felt we should spend some more time here first.”

Yennefer stared at him, lovely violet eyes blinking owlishly. Then she threw her head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Jaskier rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, waiting the uncalled for mirth out.

“Geralt,” she gasped between giggles. “Is playing hard to get? Geralt? Really?”

Jaskier didn’t see what was so funny about the situation. Everything he remembered about Geralt pointed to a cautious person who didn’t get involved easily.

“With you?” Yennefer dabbed at the corners of her eyes to make sure she hadn’t smudged her very scary make-up. “This is the best news. It only took ten years to get some sense into that bleached head of his.”

That close up, Jaskier could see long lines of scars across her shoulder. He’d gotten so used to her strutting around that he’d forgotten she’d not always looked like that. Still, it didn’t give her the right to make the butt of her joke. “If you are quite done.”

She chuckled one last time. “What’s the phrase… _maybe he’s just not that into you_.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped. How dare she? For a second insecurity raised its ugly head. Geralt had been the one to break the kiss. A kiss he hadn’t initiated either. Could Yennefer be right?

No, that was utterly ridiculous. Of course, Geralt was into it. Perhaps he just needed some encouragement to take what he wanted. Spending as much time as he clearly did with the overbearing force that was Yennefer had likely worn the man down. Not to worry, Jaskier would be the balm to heal the wounds.

He didn’t bother responding to Yennefer. Jaskier didn’t have time to bond over boys with her, not when he had someone he needed to seduce.

“Okay?” Geralt asked when Jaskier rejoined him. He had managed to secure both of them a drink.

Jaskier smiled and made sure to brush his fingers over Geralt’s hand while accepting the glass. “Perfect. So, who do you want to talk to first?”

“No, you are talking, I am staying here at the bar.”

“No, no, that’s not how this goes down.”

Geralt protested. Geralt whined. In the end, he let Jaskier lead him by the hand, moving from one group to the next. And though Geralt didn’t say much to any of them, Jaskier still got a kick out of showing off his prize. That he had to remind some of them who he was didn’t even make a dent in his mood.

The good feeling only lasted until they neared the last group they had yet to schmooze with. Seven men, a couple of them still recognisable as from the wrestling team. And in their midst someone, Jaskier would as soon spit on as greet.

He tried to steer Geralt away, but a slow whistle said they had been spotted.

“Well, now, if it isn’t the freak and the fairy.”

Jaskier sighed. “Vilgefortz. Never a pleasure. How’s your vision these days?”

Vilgefortz glared at him, his prosthetic eye not even noticeable. “I still owe you one.”

“That’s all on you. Some of us have to learn the hard way that no means no.”

What a shame such a rotten little bastard had to be put in such a pleasing form. Jaskier clicked his tongue at the injustice of it. But then again, demons had to have something to lure in the prey.

At his shoulder, he could feel a wave of tension rolling off Geralt. He and Vilgefortz had started up some kind of stare-down competition. “Geralt?” he asked, but neither were paying Jaskier any further attention.

“This is neither the time nor place,” Vilgefortz hissed.

“Hmm.”

“No longer hiding behind Yennefer’s coattails, I see.”

A muscle jumped in Geralt’s cheek. “I don’t need to hide behind anyone.”

Vilgefortz made a gesture behind his back that Jaskier couldn’t quite see, but it made his lackeys laugh. It bristled Jaskier’s hide that they thought they had the right to laugh at Geralt. At himself? Sure, he’d had his fair share, but Geralt deserved better.

“I’ll have you know--” he started.

And like the right sod he was, Vilgefortz dismissed him by turning on his heel and resuming the whispered conversation with his boy while they walked away.

“Rude.”

“Better this way.”

He supposed that was true. It wouldn’t do to start a fight right there. They would be kicked out of the venue, for one, and while he personally thought Geralt could handle himself, Jaskier wouldn’t want to bet on him taking on all seven. “I need a new drink.”

Geralt nodded and together they made their way to the bar. They accepted their glasses and moved aside so as not to block the way for everyone else. Geralt certainly took up a lot of room.

Movement over Geralt’s shoulder caught Jaskier’s eye. Yennefer, waving to try and catch their attention. Keeping his face neutral, Jaskier swivelled his body so he and Geralt were both facing the same direction. Away from Yennefer.

Which is how neither saw the two men approach until heavy hands landed on their shoulders. Geralt spun around, not quite sliding into a fighting stance, but everything about him screamed ready to throw down. He relaxed when he recognised the newcomers, but only slightly.

Jaskier stared at them; their faces were vaguely familiar, as so many other faces had been that night. He couldn’t be expected to remember absolutely everyone, though. Both were dressed in the same black on black, mostly leather getup Jaskier had talked Geralt out of earlier. Biker gang?

One of them had a nasty scar across his cheek and jaw. His gaze glided slowly down Jaskier’s body and then back up. “Going to introduce us, brother?”

“Brother?” Jaskier mouthed.

The tension hadn’t yet left Geralt’s shoulders. “Jaskier, these are my foster brothers, Eskel and Lambert.” He pointed first at the scarred one, then at the other.

“Funny that you didn’t tell us you would be attending this,” Eskel said. “In fact, I believe you said you wouldn’t be caught dead at the reunion. We made plans for tonight and everything.”

“It’s true,” Lambert adds, giving Jaskier the same slow once over Eskel had earlier. “And now suddenly you have a date? Where’d you find this one? Certainly a departure from your usual fare.”

A muscle in Geralt’s jaw clenched. “Leave him be.”

Eskel put a hand on his chest in mock affront. “Geralt, would we never--”

“Hey,” Lambert interrupted. “I know you. You're that fellow from that play we saw last year.”

Jaskier preened under the recognition. “You saw it? What did you think?”

“It was terrible,” they said in unison.

Jaskier made a little sound of hurt, while Geralt seemed to have a tickle in his throat that he tried to cough away.

“You were good, though,” Eskel said, sounding unsure. Lambert shrugged like he had no clue how the quality of a stage act could possibly be judged. Geralt, of course, said nothing.

“That’s not why we went, though,” Eskel continued to fill the silence.

Lambert smirked. “Wasn’t it?”

Geralt growled, actually growled. Jaskier’s mouth fell open and his heart sped up, caught somewhere between startled and _really_ interested in hearing that sound again.

All three men stopped whatever silent conversation they were attempting to have to look at Jaskier. Had he said something? No, he’d kept his horny opinion to himself, for once.

Geralt’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his eyes widened.

Jaskier caught himself before he could press full body up against Geralt. He hadn’t even been aware he was moving. There was just something about Geralt that made him weak, made him want. He didn’t think it was just the big muscles and the dick that he was one hundred percent sure would match in scale.

“Go.”

The word was harsh, and the tone prickly, but not directed at Jaskier, so he was content to just stand there gazing at this gorgeous man that was all meaty curves and sharp edges.

Geralt exchanged a few other words with his brothers, them mostly complaining. Family squabbles. Jaskier sure knew what those were like.

Remembering the drink in his hand, he raised the glass to his lips and took a big gulp. Geralt seized Jaskier by the wrist, making his intent to get out of there clear. Jaskier yelped as cold liquid splashed down his front and soaked into his waistcoat.

Geralt spared him a single apologetic look, but didn’t stop tugging. Jaskier had enough presence of mind to get the glass on a nearby table before he dropped it.

“What are you doing, Geralt? Look at the mess I made. Where are we going?”

Geralt didn’t answer, but their destination became clear as the door approached. Jaskier caught a glimpse of Yennefer staring at them, but then they were out into the night air.

“Geralt, we can’t just leave. It was your idea to go back into the party. I know you said twenty minutes, but you needn’t take it so literally. People are going to wonder what’s up. I didn’t even say goodbye to any of them.”

Geralt spun him around and Jaskier’s back hit something hard and cold. “Shut up.”

“I will most certainly not--” His words fell away as Geralt crowded him against what was likely his car. And yeah, okay, Jaskier was totally on board with this new development.

Like before, Geralt’s hands found his face. Unlike before, this time Jaskier kept his impatience in check, waiting for Geralt to make the move. He took his sweet damn time doing it too, seemingly content just to stare at Jaskier from up close for the longest time. His eyes swept Jaskier’s face like he was looking for something specific.

Jaskier licked his lips, a little ball of nervous energy coiling in his stomach. He knew he was pleasant enough to gaze upon, but his lovers didn’t usually put so much effort into memorizing his features. He could only imagine the reason was that Geralt thought he might not have many opportunities to do so. Jaskier swallowed back the heat rising in his throat. It was fine. If all Geralt was willing to offer was one night, then Jaskier would take enough from it to remember for a long time to come.

He dragged his hands up Geralt’s back, fingers digging into thick muscles. Up, up, touching spine, shoulder blades, the fall of white hair. He wanted to twist all that hair around his fingers, but that can wait. Instead, he returned to Geralt’s shoulders and then along his arms. The entire time Geralt just kept looking at him.

Jaskier swallowed again, his mouth going dry. He touched sharp elbows, then forearms where he could feel the effort of Geralt holding still and letting him touch as he liked. Then his fingertips found skin. Strong wrists where the jacket had fallen away. Jaskier circled his fingers around Geralt’s wrists, feather light touches. He could grab and pull Geralt’s hands anywhere he wanted, but he was afraid it might break the spell. Jaskier turned his head and, without breaking eye contact, pressed his lips against Geralt’s palm.

The sound Geralt let out made his entire frame shake, but that was okay; it also made his body surge forward, pressing against Jaskier from knee to chest. Jaskier let out a loud groan of his own. There was no real way of getting closer, but still, he squirmed to try and make it happen.

Then Geralt was kissing him, and Jaskier thought he saw stars despite the general light pollution. He didn’t notice Geralt’s hands leaving his face, or one of them closing around the outside of his thigh and pulling, but Jaskier was deeply aware of his knee suddenly touching Geralt’s hip.

And fuck, his trousers were too tight for this kind of thing, but nothing could make him stop to find a more comfortable position. Not when Geralt’s mouth was finally, finally, open and wet against his own. Not when it created a better space for Geralt’s hips to grind into him.

He marvelled at how Geralt’s body could be so hard and insistent, but his kisses soft and slow like they had the rest of their lives to find the right rhythm. It was a beautiful lie Jaskier wanted so badly to believe, but he’d been down this road many a time, and the end was always the same. He needed to speed things up before he left his heart in some stupid parking lot.

Jaskier wormed his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt’s hair tempted him again, and Jaskier was too weak to resist. He took up a handful of the long white strands, so soft after Jaskier had conditioned and brushed it. It slid through his fingers like silk. He couldn’t help himself, he needed to know, so he clenched it in a fist and tugged.

Geralt _, goddamn him_ , broke the kiss. “Fuck!”

Jaskier scraped his teeth against the bottom of Geralt’s chin, then licked the small hurt away. “You look so fucking good in the clothes I bought you,” he whispered into Geralt’s neck. “But I want to see them on the floor. Right now.”

Geralt’s grunt sounded more like a whimper. His hips stuttered once, then he got control of himself and stepped back, pulling Jaskier away from the car so he could get the door open. “Get in.”

Jaskier pressed a tiny little kiss to the corner of Geralt’s jaw, then slipped into the car.

:: :: ::

Geralt drove like an old lady. Like he planned on living forever. Like Jaskier couldn’t see the line of his erection through his pants. Like Jaskier wasn’t about to die if he didn’t get Geralt’s hands, mouth, or other body parts on or in him right that second.

Groaning, he unbuckled and scooted closer, putting a hand on Geralt’s thigh and stroking up to cup him. Geralt grunted and his hips twitched, causing his legs to open a little wider.

Jaskier took it as an invitation and leaned over, licking his lips.

Geralt grabbed him by the back of the neck, scruffing him like a naughty kitten. “Not here.”

Jaskier’s eyes rolled close and for a moment imagined how that strong hand was going to feel on the rest of him, then the words registered. He whined low in his throat. Not here, not here, not here. That was all he seemed to be hearing lately.

He felt Geralt shifting, bending, putting his face close to the back of Jaskier’s head. Then the chest against his cheek rose in an inhale. Jaskier groaned again, because _fuck_ , Geralt was sniffing him.

"Then hurry up and get us there."

"Hmm." Geralt loosened his grip to card the hand through Jaskier's hair.

It's not an unfamiliar touch, but Jaskier was more used to it being followed up by his head being pushed down, not the gentle caress Geralt was offering up. Had it been someone else, Jaskier might not have accepted the petting as readily, but the thing between seemed to rob him of his usual defences. It made Jaskier want to give more of himself than was good for him.

Geralt's hand was equally gentle when he pushed Jaskier back against his seat and flicked the latch. Jaskier rolled his eyes but fastened the seat belt as instructed.

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the street lights reflect off a slight smile, even as Geralt shifted in his seat and adjusted himself.

:: :: ::

They got back to Geralt's small house with no further incidents.

The drive had done its job in quieting the raging need in Jaskier's blood. Which meant it had likely done the same to Geralt. Lots of men had second thoughts when their dicks weren't the primary driving force. Suddenly the reality of what they had wanted to do grew too much and they spooked. Geralt didn't strike him as someone who had ever been spooked, but even his brothers had been surprised to see him with Jaskier, meaning he might not have all that much experience with men.

Jaskier gnawed on his bottom lip. Waiting for Geralt to unlock his front door, he wanted to start babbling about how much he wanted Geralt, but he had a feeling that might have the opposite reaction to his end goal. So he pressed in close instead, fitting himself against Geralt's lovely bottom and wrapping arms around his waist.

Geralt stilled in surprise but then relaxed into the embrace. When Jaskier blew warm breath against his neck, he shuddered and missed the keyhole.

Jaskier chuckled and reached around to help steady Geralt's hand. He got a grunt for his trouble, but Geralt didn't push him off.

From inside the house, a low pitched _ruff ruff_ sounded. It had a distinct edge to it.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier, not yet with the program, attempted to slide his hand into Geralt’s trousers. “I should hope so.”

“I need to walk Roach.”

His hand continued to roam for a moment more. “What?”

Geralt gave a shrug, which dislodged Jaskier. He got the door open quickly and was immediately met by a brown dog as big as a pony.

“Sorry, girl.” Geralt said, and the dog rumbled reproachfully. He stroked her floppy ears. “Go get your leash.”

The dog craned her neck to look past him at Jaskier, who stood very still. She huffed, unimpressed, and trotted off.

Geralt turned to face him. “I need to-- ten minutes, fifteen tops.”

“I could… wait here?” Jaskier offered. The certainty of this happening between them was quickly slipping away.

“I’m not leaving you alone in my house.”

“That’s fair.”

Which is how Jaskier ended up walking down a deserted street in the middle of the night, dressed in his finest, which did little to ward off the winter air. Geralt, the utter bastard, didn’t seem to even notice the cold. No, he was merrily traipsing after the pony dog telling her about the party. The night was so not what Jaskier had expected it to be, and yet, he found himself nursing a smile.

Roach didn’t seem to want to actually do anything other than sniff the scents of the neighbourhood. When they stopped at the end of the row, she leaned her bulk against Geralt, making him sway with the impact, and gazed up at him adoringly. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever related so hard to a dog before.

Geralt returned the affection with a gentle hand. Moonlight turned his hair sparkling silver. Jaskier had always thought him this cold, aloof guy, but he’d seen past that now. From the heat on the dance floor, and Geralt’s quick spark of jealousy, to this warm tenderness. This was Geralt’s little family, and he was allowing Jaskier to be a small part of it. And even if it was just for one night, it felt so good.

“Cold?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier blinked in surprise, having forgotten for a moment that he was shivering. “Oh. Yeah, a little.”

Geralt handed him the leash to hold, while he shrugged out of the blazer. Jaskier stood still, letting himself be wrapped up. The blazer was deliciously toasty from body heat and it smelled of man, adventure, and heartbreak. And vaguely onion.

Their fingers brushed as Geralt took the leash back. Just a little tingling touch, that travelled up Jaskier’s whole arm. Unwilling to let that go, he took Geralt’s hand fully.

Geralt gave him a startled look. Jaskier met it with a soft smile. Geralt looked away first, transferred the leash to his other hand, and then slotted their fingers together.

They strolled down the quiet suburban street, and this time Jaskier did see the stars overhead.

:: :: ::

When they got back to the house, Roach made a beeline for the coach and stretched herself out with a sigh. She was asleep and snoring less than a minute later.

“So…” Jaskier said, rocking back and forth on his heels. With the urgency of before gone, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Sorry, I guess Eskel took her out.” Geralt was pointedly not looking at Jaskier, possibly also feeling the effects of the new awkwardness that was settling between them.

“Good to get some exercise before bed anyway. She must keep you busy.”

Geralt smiled at the sleeping dog. “Not at all. If she can stay on that couch for the rest of eternity, she would be happy. Do you… want something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I had quite enough already.”

Finally, Geralt looked at him, but it was with concern and not passion. “Are you drunk?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, dad, I am still making rational decisions.”

And just like that, the concern was gone. Geralt advanced on him and used one big hand to flatten Jaskier back against the door. “Are you going to be a brat about it?”

Jaskier knew this game. Had played it many times in the past. But he didn’t want any games between them. He pushed forward, and Geralt did nothing to try and keep him from entering his personal space. Jaskier put both hands on Geralt’s chest. “No. I want this. I want you.”

He leaned in even closer, bypassing Geralt’s mouth to nip at his ear. “Wanna know a secret? I had the biggest crush on you in school. I was so heartbroken that you never looked my way.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pulled their bodies together. “I looked. You just never noticed.”

Jaskier pulled the tie out of Geralt’s hair and combed the long strands with his fingers. “I’m noticing now.”

Geralt’s eyes slid shut and he turned his head to nuzzle Jaskier’s wrist. He’d led a tough life; Jaskier could tell that by the lines Geralt should be too young to have. By the reserved way he carried himself, like he expected punishment to follow should he take up too much space. He’d learned hard lessons on protecting his heart. Something Jaskier had long since given up trying to do, and he most certainly didn’t want to go into the next few hours without putting everything on the line.

He nudged Geralt’s face towards his and sealed their lips together. It was soft and slow, up until it wasn’t.

Geralt’s arms tightened again and then Jaskier was lifted clean off his feet. He gave a little yelp and hung on while the room spun and moved. For as slow a driver as he was, Geralt broke the land speed record for getting someone from the front door to the bedroom. They stopped only to pull off clothes and steal kisses.

Geralt fell back on the bed, taking Jaskier with him. They bounced once before coming to rest. Jaskier settled over Geralt’s hips, while Geralt worked on getting both their trousers open. He grabbed the back and yanked, exposing Jaskier’s backside to the cool air, but getting the trousers no further down.

“You're so hot,” Jaskier said against Geralt’s lips, who tried to protest, but Jaskier silenced him with another kiss. When he was sure Geralt had forgotten what he wanted to say, Jaskier sat up so he could splay both hands on Geralt’s chest, roaming the hills and valleys.

Geralt mimicked the action, stroking up Jaskier’s torso and scratching blunt nails through the hair on his chest. Jaskier groaned and rocked his hips, grinding down onto the hard bulge he could feel in Geralt’s trousers.

The sound Geralt made robbed him of reason, and he had to lean back down to taste it at the source. Geralt allowed one kiss, then tilted his chin up, denying Jaskier another. A hand wrapped around his throat, not squeezing, just gentle pressure to keep Jaskier from getting what he wants.

Jaskier planted a fist on the mattress next to Geralt’s head, and without breaking eye contact, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth at the same time he rolled his hips. Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut, and his hand went limp, allowing Jaskier to close the distance. It was less a kiss and more just breathing into each other, each letting out little groans and gasps.

Geralt grabbed his arse, not guiding, but holding on while Jaskier grinded on him.

They stayed like that for a while, for as long as Jaskier could stand it. He didn’t want to come dry humping Geralt like a teenager, which meant he had to back off and get them fully naked. He kissed Geralt one more time, all tongue and no finesse, then scooted backwards off the bed.

“Please tell me you have lube and a condom.”

Geralt nodded, but seemed reluctant to move. Jaskier stripped them both of their remaining clothes and then took a moment to appreciate his work. Geralt was spread out on the dark comforter, all pale skin except for the parts flushed with blood. Wet, kiss ravished lips, pointy little nipples, and a lovely, thick cock resting against his belly. Jaskier wanted, no needed, a taste of that too. He was not one to deny himself the simple pleasures.

Geralt cried out at the touch of Jaskier’s tongue lapping up pre-cum and wrapping around the head. He sat back, observing his handiwork. Geralt’s stomach and thighs twitched. His mouth opened around harsh breaths.

He let his hands roam up the outside of Geralt’s legs, over the angles of his hips, the tender parts of his stomach, and then back down. Jaskier bypassed the areas most in need of touch to drag calloused fingers down the inside of Geralt’s thighs. They were lovely thighs, tightly packed with muscles that contracted and released with restless movement.

“Please,” Geralt whispered, barely audible and sounding like it pained him to say. He reached down to squeeze the base of his cock.

Jaskier nudged his legs open so he could settle his chest between them. “Want to feed it to me?”

Geralt did just that, angling his cock so Jaskier could fit his mouth over it. His free hand found Jaskier’s short hair and stroked it back from his face, even as thighs clamped around Jaskier’s torso.

Jaskier licked, slurped and sucked. The strangled sounds coming from above him were the best report card he’d ever received. He shifted to give himself more room, and slid down more. Pressure hit against the back of his throat and for a moment his years of practice were nowhere to be found. He choked.

“You don’t have--” Geralt whimpered.

“I can get it,” Jaskier growled in a tone not far from Geralt’s own. It had been a couple months, possibly a year, since he’d last been with a man. So his skills were rusty. That didn’t mean he didn’t have them.

He coughed and then dived back in. He wasn’t surprised Geralt had liked it; plenty of men liked the idea of their cocks being too much to handle. His second try was far more successful.

Geralt gasped like he had just surfaced from the ocean after a near-drowning. His fingers fluttered against Jaskier’s scalp, like he couldn’t decide whether to push him down or pull him off. “Fuck. Do that again.”

Jaskier chuckled and, after taking a deep breath of his own, swallowed Geralt down again. Then again, and again.

He felt Geralt move and prepared himself for the inevitable thrust. He preferred being the one who decided what speed something went in his throat, but he could already tell he was going to have a hard time denying Geralt anything.

Instead, rough hands roamed his neck and shoulders, pushing gently. The intent was clear: up. Jaskier hollowed his cheeks and gave one long, slow suck and then pulled off with a pop.

Geralt sat up, his amber eyes nearly black with want. He thumbed at Jaskier’s lips, and he could imagine what they must look like, all wet and a little swollen.

“If you keep doing that, it’s going to be all you get tonight.” Meaning Geralt needed a little break to recover his self-control. That was quite alright with Jaskier.

“I want you to fuck me.” He dragged a fingertip up the bottom of Geralt’s cock and was rewarded by moisture beading at the top. “Want you to put this inside me and make me take it.”

Geralt’s wide shoulders move, either amusement or lust. He licked a quick stripe over Jaskier’s lips, cleaning him up of some of the residues of his action. Jaskier barely registered hands beneath his armpits, but then he was being lifted, moved and flipped face down onto the mattress.

He rocked as Geralt’s movements dipped the bed. Legs settled on either side of his own, knees squeezing his hips. A hand curled in his hair, twisting his head to the side. Heavy warmth settled all along his back, pressing him deeper into the mattress, but not so much that he couldn’t breathe.

Geralt’s nose traced the curve of his cheekbone. Lips blessed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his shoulder, his neck. Jaskier squirmed, trying to gain enough leverage to rub up against the hard line of Geralt’s cock where he could feel it pressed between the cheeks of his arse.

“Easy,” Geralt whispered. The wind of it tickled the little hairs on Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier craned his neck to entice Geralt into a kiss, but he was having none of it. Both hands flattened on Jaskier’s shoulder blades, holding him down even as it helped Geralt sit up. His cock slid against Jaskier’s skin, making them both groan.

He clenched his arse, providing what extra stimulus he could. Geralt rewarded him by fingers that moved, circled, and pressed. Kneading out tight knots and leaving Jaskier boneless and relaxed. He let himself sink against the firm mattress. Later he might complain about the rock Geralt slept on. Much later.

Those clever fingers moved down his spine, leaving tingly laziness in their wake.

Geralt’s weight shifted. Jaskier wanted to protest, but quickly realized Geralt had just moved to give himself more space so he could palm the curve of Jaskier’s ass. Fuck, his hands were big, a hot brand against eager skin.

So relaxed was he, that Jaskier jumped at the sharp nip of teeth in the curve where his bum met his leg. Geralt chuckled, Jaskier could feel the rumble of it in his balls. The hands on his arse gripped tighter, squeezing and spreading. An even hotter tongue dragged over his hole. Jaskier fisted one hand the duvet and bit down on the other to keep from making too much noise. Thank all that was holy that he took some extra time getting ready for the party. Not that he had seriously expected anything to happen, but good things came to those who prepared properly.

He was used to partners maybe giving him a few flicks of the tongue, but Geralt… Geralt lingered.

They stayed there for a while. Jaskier torn between wanting to push back against Geralt’s face or rub himself against the bed, while not able to either while pinned down as he was. Geralt took his sweet time getting him wet and relaxed.

Fingers joined in, and Jaskier didn’t even really notice until the first was knuckle deep. He clenched experimentally around it, deliriously happy at the raspy groan behind him.

“More,” he begged.

“Hmm.”

The finger was momentarily withdrawn. He heard the click of a cap and then Geralt was back with two fingers sliding slick against him. Jaskier swallowed and circled his hips impatiently. Geralt snorted and gave him what he asked for.

Jaskier whined low in his throat, but took the offered digits easily, feeling like he’d never been more ready for anything in his life. Geralt prepped him as slow as he drove, and Jaskier was sure he would go out of his mind with want.

Just before he thought he really couldn’t take much more, Geralt stopped. He shifted and the heavy warmth of his thighs settled over Jaskier’s again. There was the crinkle of a wrapper and another cap pop.

“Ready?”

Jaskier nodded convulsively. “So ready.”

Blunt pressure and then Jaskier’s mouth was falling open as the air rushed from his lungs. Geralt settled over him, a hand next to Jaskier’s face propping himself up, and the slow, unrelenting push that forced his body to make room for something far larger than the fingers had been.

“Fuck!” He grabbed Geralt’s wrist to ground himself. “It’s big.”

Geralt hesitated, seeming unsure. Jaskier placed a sloppy kiss against Geralt’s forearm. “It’s good. Keep going. Give it to me.”

Geralt complied, sliding the rest of the way until his hips bumped up against Jaskier’s bum. Jaskier huffed out a laugh and licked over suddenly dry lips. Geralt mouthed the back of his shoulder and stroked his free hand along Jaskier’s side, before coming to rest on his hip. That grip tightened, like he needed to hold Jaskier immobile. Like there was anywhere he could go even if he wanted to.

With Geralt nearly full length on top of him, there wasn’t much room to bounce his arse on that lovely cock, but he gave it his best shot.

“Yeah?” Geralt asked against his cheek.

“Yeah.”

The pace was smooth and steady. On any other night Jaskier would have appreciated a long, leisurely fuck, but he felt like he’d been on edge for hours and if Geralt didn’t tip him over pretty damn soon, he might just come completely undone. And possibly die.

He let go of the Geralt’s wrist and reached back to deliver a loud, echoing smack against his flank. “C’mon.”

Geralt grunted, the sound bordering between frustration and irritation. Jaskier had a moment to marvel at how much better he was getting at interpreting the noises. Then he had no thoughts at all, as Geralt pulled out, forced his knees apart, yanked Jaskier’s arse high up in the air, and slammed back into him. Once. Twice. Quick piston movements.

Jaskier all but howled in relief. He shuddered uncontrollably, fingers twisting the duvet as he hung on for the ride.

“This what you wanted?” Geralt growled out between thrusts.

Jaskier lifted one shaky hand to give him a thumbs up. Geralt let out a bark of laughter. He grabbed at Jaskier again, pulling him up so they were both kneeling.

“Touch yourself,” he said, licking over the curve of Jaskier’s ear.

Thick arms wrapped around Jaskier’s torso, holding him tight and immobile. There would be no getting away. As if he would ever want to. He rested his head back against Geralt’s shoulder, brought one arm up to wrap around his neck, and sent the remaining hand to stroke his own weeping cock.

He could feel Geralt’s thighs straining against his own, taking and moving both their weights. Good. Hopefully Geralt would feel the burn of it long after Jaskier was gone.

Whether it was the continuous stream of grunts in his ear, or the fantastic angle Geralt’s cock was pounding him at, Jaskier came first.

He tightened his grip, milking the delicious wave for as long as he could. All the while Geralt moved against him, in him, rougher and with far less finesse now that he was chasing his own pleasure.

Jaskier placed his own arms over the ones still holding him. Geralt rested his forehead against the back of Jaskier’s neck. He came shaking, but silent other than the harsh breaths.

They slumped onto the bed and for a while, Jaskier drifted on a warm, tired cloud. He whined when Geralt separated from him, but soon those lovely hands were back, stroking over his skin and just petting him like a beloved pet. And that was nice too. There was a warm washcloth somewhere in the mix, but Jaskier was too blissed out to care.

Even later still, Geralt sat up and made to leave the bed. Jaskier grumbled and clung to his leg, but Geralt just smoothed out his hair. “I have to feed Roach. Would you like something to eat?”

Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him, but he doubted he could stomach food yet. “Some tea would be lovely, if you have it.”

Geralt chuckled and slapped him on the arse on the way out. Jaskier’s dick twitched in reluctant interest. He ignored it in favour of stretching out on sheets that smelled like Geralt and sex.

:: :: ::

Some time later Jaskier was roused from his doze by his foot being shaken.

“Your tea got cold,” Geralt said, but there was no heat in the words. Much like the tea, apparently.

Jaskier cracked one eye open to see the cup next to the bed. He vaguely remembered mumbling a thanks when Geralt brought it, but then sweet lethargy had taken him while he waited for it to cool. “Sorry.”

“Do you want a new one?”

He shook his head and sat up. Realisation of how late it must be broke like a bucket of cold water over his head. He had overstayed his welcome, and Geralt was too considerate to just yank him out the bed and boot him out the door.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I’ll just be a moment. Do you know where my trousers went?”

Geralt looked at him with brows drawn tight. “Why do you need them?”

“To get dressed?” Jaskier replied, unsure.

“You’re leaving?” The frown grew even deeper, and Geralt’s lips pressed into a flat line.

“I don’t have to, if you don’t want me to. I just thought--”

Geralt grunted, crawled onto the bed and pushed Jaskier flat on his back. That was invitation enough for him, and he eagerly opened his arms and tilted his head to accept the kiss.

The memory of Geralt’s cock in him was still a very tingly, very physical thing, and while he was so going to regret it in the morning, right then Jaskier was more than willing to have another go.

Geralt, it seemed, had other plans. With one arm locked around Jaskier’s torso, he rolled them until Jaskier was on top. His eyes were more brown in the low light from a street lamp spilling through the window.

Jaskier took advantage of the freedom of movement to dip his head down, tracing lips over the dip and rise of a clavicle and across the solid curve of chest muscle. He couldn’t help it, he had to test the give with his teeth.

An approving rumble tickled his face. Geralt enjoyed a little bit of pain along with his pleasure. How lovely. He tested the theory by biting harder.

Geralt’s groan sounded like it had to fight to be let out. His hands clenched around Jaskier’s upper arms and his entire body was one tight string. But, none of it was a no.

Jaskier licked a soothing stripe over the imprint of his teeth raising colour on pale skin. Geralt slowly relaxed, sinking into the bed, even as his erection dug into Jaskier’s stomach.

“Shh,” he whispered, stroking down Geralt’s sides. Bumpy ridges met his fingertips. Old scars from who knew where. He wanted to know, though. Wanted to take in every single story of their creation. To kiss away whatever hurts they might still cause. Above all, he wanted to write songs about them so Geralt would know he was beautiful despite them. Jaskier would hum those songs when they were in the shower together, his hands skimming across each slick scar.

Wouldn’t that be nice? In a different world, perhaps.

Geralt’s legs moved restlessly, his thighs raising to bracket Jaskier’s body, squeezing with each shiver at the light touches.

Jaskier didn’t even bother trying to bite back the groan he made. He immediately abandoned the ticklish spots to palm Geralt’s thighs. Muscles moved beneath the skin and he was sure he could feel every individual one. He wanted to stay there forever. Trapped and slowly crushed to death. He might even go smiling.

“What’s funny?” Geralt asked.

He schooled the amused expression off his face, lest Geralt get the wrong idea. “Just thinking how unbelievably hot you are. How are you even real? Did I dream you up in some feverish wet dream?”

Geralt let out a little choke, then his body was shifting. Jaskier whined, thinking for a moment it meant Geralt was leaving, but he realized quickly that Geralt was just stretching to reach. Oh, that lovely little bottle.

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked. Although he hadn’t spoken to his mother in a while, she had raised him to consider other people’s comfort and desires.

“Fuck me.”

Fireworks went off in Jaskier’s brain, even as the little part of him that was not regressing to baser instincts told him the foil packet Geralt was pressing to his chest was not going to get the job done. While Jaskier did pretty well in that department, he was under no illusion Geralt’s brand would fit him.

“Hold that thought, let me just get one of my own.” Of which he had at least three stashed somewhere in his attire. It wouldn’t do to leave the house unprepared.

Crawling around the room was not exactly dignified, but if the noises behind him were any indication, Geralt didn’t mind the view. In fact, he sounded a bit too into it.

Jaskier grabbed the condom from his wallet. Glancing over his shoulder, it was a good thing he was already on the floor, or his knees would have surely buckled. He wanted to ask what Geralt was doing, but it was exceptionally clear what he was doing, and all that came out of Jaskier’s mouth was, “Hn?”

Brow furrowed in concentration, Geralt didn’t spare him so much as a glance, too busy working himself open with his fingers.

Surprise quickly passed, and Jaskier made his way back to the bed in record time. His knees burned a little after the shuffle on the carpet, but there was no way he wasn’t going to watch this show. He slithered onto the bed and retook his place between Geralt’s pale thighs.

He watched, mesmerized as two slick fingers disappeared into Geralt with none of the gentleness he himself had been shown earlier. Muscles corded his forearm and tendons stood out on the back of his hand, which was moving with increasing speed. His sweet little hole was flushing pink under the abuse, but still, it looked so eager for more. Jaskier wanted to kiss it better.

Geralt had other plans, clamping his free hand around Jaskier’s neck and pulling him up. His eyes were wide and his mouth open, lips barely moving to return Jaskier’s kiss.

“You couldn’t wait for me?”

“‘Nother time.”

Another time? Did Geralt mean it? Hope warred with lust. While he was still processing that, Geralt withdrew his fingers, squirmed to settle more comfortably, and reached overhead to grab the slats of his headboard.

“Now.”

If he thought he was going to be topping from the bottom, he had another thing coming. His stretched position begged for hard and fast, and Jaskier could deliver. Oh, could he ever.

He got his own prep over and done, and then lined up. He circled Geralt’s hole with the tip of his cock, enjoying the frustrated way Geralt breathed. Jaskier didn’t have it in him to deny them too long; impulse control had never been his strong suit. He pushed in, fighting resistance and what was practically a clamp.

Either Geralt hadn’t done as good a job getting himself ready as he should, or it had been even longer for him than it had been for Jaskier. Because god damn.

“Tight,” he whispered.

Geralt’s eyes were closed and his head turned, teeth worrying his bicep. His chest rose and fell rapidly and every muscle was tense. His cock was still pretty damn hard, though, which was heartening.

Jaskier stilled and rubbed hips, stomach, everywhere his hands could reach. “Hey, look at me.”

It took a moment for Geralt to realize what was happening and comply with the request.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

Geralt didn’t respond, just shoved out his jaw in mulish stubbornness. That was most definitely not good enough.

“If you are just looking for someone to hurt you, I am not that guy, Geralt.”

They stared at each other, and much to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt broke first. Just a little eye roll and the barest hint of amusement. He pushed down, and Jaskier decided to take that as an agreement.

He hitched one of Geralt’s legs up over his shoulder, giving himself more space to work, but also something to hang on to. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against Geralt’s thigh and started moving again. Slowly, so slowly. Opening Geralt up and making a home for himself.

“Keep looking at me. I’ve got you.”

Heat flared in Geralt’s eyes, even if his only response was a grunt. Which Jaskier chose to translate into ‘more’.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promised, and he wasn’t sure if he meant just then or forever.

He kept the slow, easy pace up until the last of the tension drained out Geralt and what remained was his hot eyes and the pink lips he kept licking for moisture. Yes, Jaskier was a weak man, he couldn’t stare such a temptation in the face and not lean in to taste it for himself.

Geralt returned the kisses eagerly, his tongue impatient and insistent. Perhaps he thought he was back to being in charge. Silly goose.

Jaskier planted a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, then on the curve of his chin. He sat up, gripped Geralt’s hips, and on the next stroke fucked into him with a snap of his hips.

Geralt’s back bowed. His cock leaked. His elbows shook with the effort of keeping his hold on the slats. Then he laughed. A small, shy little sound of joy.

Too bad for all the suckers in the world who hadn’t given the man the dicking he so clearly needed. Their chance had passed. No matter what happened from here on out, Geralt would not be getting rid of Jaskier that easily. He would fight him tooth and nail, body and soul, to have more of these moments. More of any moments. All the moments.

“You are beautiful,” he said, meaning every word.

Geralt’s face turned startled and he might have tried to protest, but Jaskier was having none of it. If he had to fuck the truth into him, that was a job he’d gladly accept.

There were no theatrics, no acrobatics. Jaskier delivered on his promise; fucking Geralt hard and thorough, but not fast. No need when they had the rest of the night, and quite possibly their entire lives.

And when Geralt came, neither of them was even touching him. It was Jaskier’s turn to laugh in delight. He had never gotten a man off with just his dick before, but Geralt had been so ready for it.

His own orgasm followed not long after. They collapsed in a pile of rubbery limbs. It was too hot, too sticky, but when Jaskier tried to move, Geralt wrapped both arms around him to prevent escape.

“We should clean up,” he protested.

Geralt nuzzled his shoulder. “Later. Stay.”

Jaskier did. Stayed that night. That weekend. And a long time more.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it. My first fanfic in 8 years. So nervewracking. Let me know what you think! I am also on [Tumblr](https://morcalivan.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi.
> 
> Deleted scenes from the headcanon:   
> \- Geralt co-owns the Butchery with Renfri, who is alive and well, and still randomly have seven men following her around most days  
> \- Jaskier lands the role and becomes a mid level star, with some dedicated fans. Geralt and Lambert are the biggest fans  
> \- They do eventually go on a double date. Geralt feels ganged up on the entire time and vows to never go anywhere with all of them again. They do it again 2 weeks later


End file.
